I^-J — « gg 



<J ^ 






POEMS 



BY 



JOHN W. COOPER 



Copyright, 191O by John W. Cooper 



SEP 29 1919 

©CS.A535003 



OB |5 



CONTENTS 



••* 



The Real Poet 3 

An Arraignment 4 

Autumn 5 

Bell the Cat • • 6 

Darkytown Camp Meeting 7 

Dame Nature's Gowns 8 

Deep-Hole ° 

Friendship IO 

Hail! All Hail! the Victor! " 

June Roses I2 

Nature's Miracle *3 

Spring z 4 

Summer . . x 5 

Those Who Would Borrow and Never Repay, 16 

To My Dog J 7 

A Toast to the Fourth of July 18 

The Voice of the Victor *9 

The Way to Success 2 ° 

When the Cats Sang on the Fence . . . . 21 

Childhood's Land 22 



O <* (* 



®ljp Heal fnrt 

The real poet, to my mind, 

Is not he who cloaks with words sublime 

The subject he would fain define ; 

But rather, he who is inclined, 

To dope a comprehensive rhyme, 

And tell it in one-half the time. 

—JOHN w. COOPER 

October 8th, 1918 



* 



AN ARRAIGNMENT 



That the world is inconsistant, wiseacres 

will insist, 
For they say, the things we read about, in 

real life don't exist, 
That friendship is an oldtime myth, formed 

for convenience sake, 
And if you put it to the test, the whole 

foundation shakes. 

For instance, there's the Browns and 

Smiths, with whom you were so thick, 
Have suddenly grown prosperous and joined 

another clique ; 
Of course, you are excluded, so take the 

tip in time, 
That if you are a friend of theirs, don't 

block their social climb. 

We all have met the flatterers, whose 

condescending mien, 
Is but a clever camouflage, to hide some 

selfish scheme ; 
For after they have tried all arts and failed 

to take you in, 
Transfer their sworn affections, to others 

more benign. 

And still, we have the busy-body, mixing-up 

in our affairs ; 
Or if by chance we're let alone, Brown and 

Smith are "getting theirs". 
Some others too— who by their acts, would 

force us to agree, 
That friendship is an oldtime my th— at least 

it seems to be. 

This bold arraignment is purely meant for 

ones the shoe may fit, 
Because there are exceptions, which I 

willingly admit, 
And own to friends as "good as gold", 

whose virtues I would laud, 
But the more I see of the others, the better 

I like my dog ! 

-JOHN W. COOPER 
March 12th, 1918 



* (t 



AUTUMN 

*&$ 

In a wonderful gown of yellow and brown, 

With crimson to brighten the tone, 
Gay Autumn has come, ere the flowers are done, 

Or the birds to the Southlands have flown ; 
And amid the acclaim that heralds her reign, 

We pause to bid Summer adieu, 
Whose mantle descends, as her sovereignty ends. 

On the one it would gladly indue. 

O'er the hills and the vales, Queen Autumn 
prevails, 

And with all of her beauties adorn; 
Midst splendor she reigns, nor power disclaims, 

Till her mantle of glory is shorn. 
Not alone is she fair beyond all compare, 

But with kindness is also endowed, 
For in truth there is much, to be blessed by her 
touch, 

Ere we reap the full bounty allowed. 

Like Diana of old, thou wouldst watch o'er thy fold, 

And with wisdom and power enthrall, 
As the forests resounds with the huntsmen and 
hounds, 

Or the blare of the tally-ho's call. 
Reign thou, fairest Queen! o'er the woodland and 
stream! 

As thy pathway with leaves may be strown! 
Till thy beauty shall fade, ere thy scepter be laid, 

And Winter would levy thy thrown! 

—JOHN w. COOPER 

September 16th, 1919 



C O 



"BELL THE CAT" 



The rats and the mice, 

Were seeking advice, 
For which they were sorely in need. 

As the time was approaching, 

When pussy's encroaching, 
Would threaten to wipe out their breed. 

So they put it to vote, 

To send her a note, 
And inquire the terms of peace. 

Their good-will would tender, 

And pantry surrender, 
If only the atrocities cease. 

But here some contended, 

If puss got offended, 
'Tweed surely be death to their cause. 

So why not use cunning — 

All diplomacy shunning, 
To combat with the teeth and the claws. 



So without an objection, 

They took a collection, 
To buy a big bell for the cat. 

For when it would ring, 

Just ting-a-ling-ling, 
They'd know it was time to scat. 



They could nibble the cheese, 

With far more ease. 
That happened to be on the shelf. 

And if pussy would peeve, 

They'd laugh up their sleeve, 
At the thought of her chasing herself. 

But their hope soon died, 

When a little mouse cried : 
"But who'll put the bell on the cat?" 

'Twas no sooner said, 

Than all of them fled, 
For they never had thought about that. 



-JOHN W. COOPER 
November 6th, 1918 



c c c 



d) -p -# 



Sarkglnmn (ttamp flirting 



Camp meetin' time ! Camp meetin' time ! 
Heah dem darkies shout ! 
Hololujah! Hololujah! 
Cast de debbil out! 

Some come in gigs, and some on bikes, 

And some dey use shank's mare, 
It makes no difference how dey come, 

Just so dey all gits there. 

Hololujah! Hololujah! 

Dis am camp meetin' day! 
Brover Johnson's in de pulpit, 

Heah what he's to say: 

"Come along now! Come along now ! 

Hab your registration cards; 
Curb desire fur watermellon, 

And avoid de chicken yards. 
Cut out playin' crap and gamblin', 

Git an honest job ob work. 
So your wives wont take in washin' 

While you lay 'round and shirk. 

"By-and-by we're goin' over, 

And you'll find out mighty soon, 
Dat de good Lawd takes no notice, 

Of a downright lazy coon. 
So you'd better can dat nonsense; 

Do it now 'fore you go, 
For your sins wont git you nowhere, 

Ceptin' in de place below. 

"Who kin tell but dat de debbil 

May be layin' just outside, 
Crouchin' dar among de bushes, 

Waitin' fur you to decide; 
Or if he am busy elsewhere, 

He may hab his trusty spies, 
Ready with dar propagandus, 

And dar underhanded lies. 

"Come along and show old Satan, 

Dat his offers you decline, 
And dat while he's hangin' 'round here, 

He am only wastin' time. 
Sister Lightfoot will oblige us, 

If she kindly starts a tune. 
While de ushers takes de offerin', 

See dat no one leaves de room. 

"Now's de time to show your colors, 

Whether real or only gloss, 
For de good Lawd always judges 

By de way you comes across. 
Just another thing in closin', 

I would causally remark, 
Dat you needn't think camp meetin', 

Am a public spoonin' park.'* 

Hololujah ! Hololujah ! 

Heah dat quartette sing! 
Hololujah! Hololujah! 

Make de rafters ring! 

-JOHN W. COOPER 
December 12th, 1918 



( 



I 



T*> 



DAME NATURE'S GOWNS 



% 



Dame Nature they say, 

Is prone to be gay, 
And charmingly arte a la mode. 

Her gowns are so fair, 

And exclusively rare, 
'Tis no wonder she's always the vogue. 



For with lovely spring, 

Her greetings would bring, 
In green and clouds of white lace. 

There's little pink dots, 

And many soft knots, 
To hold the blue violets in place. 



In summer she's charming, 

Though a little alarmingf 
For her dress shames the rainbow in hue. 

There's blue and there's pink, 

And purple I think, 
Veiled over with sunbeams and dew. 



Her autumn creation, 

Is quite a sensation, 
Methinks this her favorite gown. 

The tunic is gold, 

With red at the fold, 
To blend with the yellow and brown. 



When the leaves disappear, 

And winter is here, 
Ah! then she is "Queen of the Night". 

Her frosty gems clow, 

And glitter and show, 
When she dons her famed "Mantle of White.' 



-JOHN w. COOPER 
November 2nd, 1Q18 



<-, v. 



"DEEP-HOLE" 



As my thoughts wander back to my boy- 
hood a bit, 
'Mid changes and passing of time, 
I find nothing more dearly enshrined in my 
heart 
Than the scenes by the old Brandy wine. 

It is thus that I think of the famed swimming 

pool, 
Which flowed from a neighboring rill; 
It was then called the "Deep-Hole" by all 

of the boys, 
Who once knew the joy of its thrill. 

For many a time from the limb of a tree, 
We have dived in the water so green, 

Then swam to the shore — played tag and 
leap-frog, 
Or fished for a while in the stream. 



It was here we first proved we really could 
swim, 
And any suspicions erase, 
For if with one foot on the bottom you 
swam, 
You'd likely use some other place. 

And oft we have dozed 'neath the shade of 
a tree, 
As the tide flowed and rippled along, 
Nor heard not a sound save the hum of the 
bee, 
Or the notes of a meadow-lark's song. 

Some day I'll return to that time-honored 
spot, 
Far down from the slope of the knoll, 
Then across the wide meadow — beside the 
high bank, 
I'll look once again in "Deep-Hole." 

—JOHN W. COOPER 
October 31st, 1918 



( ( ( 



FRIENDSHIP 

Dedicated to 
MRS. JOSIAH BURNETT 

1? 

True friendship is most deftly wrought, as 

though by One above, 
Of truth and faith and kindness, unselfishness 

and love. 
It is not of the fleeting joys, that for a time 

engage, 
But mellows with the passing years, as wine 

improves with age. 



Oft is it more to be desired, than crown to 

mighty kings, 
While to us lowly mortals, it joy and solace 

brings; 
It is the guiding star of hope, that leads to 

better things, 
And should earthly ties be broken, its memory 

still clings. 



Guide on thou beauteous star of hope, through 

life's tumultuous sea; 
On, on through ages yet to be — 
On through eternity. 

-JOHN W. COOPER 
Philadelphia, March 28th, 1918 



r 



( 




HAIL! ALL HAIL! THE VICTOR! 

Hail! All Hail! the Victor! 
Sound the trumpet and horn? 



Out of the clouds of battle 

Bursts the radiant sun. 
Broke is the chain and shackle; 

Thus is a victory won. 

Ring out the bells in the steeple, 
Cry it from hilltop and plain; 

Freedom at last for the people; 
Thus is autocracy slain. 

Join in the grand processions, 
Decked in festive array, 

Tangle the flags of the nations, 
Strew with flowers the way. 

Swell the triumphant chorus, 
Mingle the laughter and song, 

"God of the Host" goes before us, 
Leading the happy throng. 



« 



Hail! All Hail! the Victor! 
Thus is a new day born! 

—JOHN w. COOPER 
November 11th, 1918 



( ( ( 



«> o 



JUNE ROSES 

■8 

'Tis June! 'tis June ! the glorious June! 

Her beauty now discloses. 
The days are fair — and everywhere — 

We scent the breath of roses. 

'Tis June! fair June! the radiant moon! 

Its golden light disposes. 
Oh ! night of bliss — a vow — a kiss — 

A garden filled with roses. 

'Tis June! sweet June! the bride and groom! 

In strenght of trust reposes. 
The wedding bells — a story tells — 

Of June, of love and roses. 

-JOHN W. COOPER 
June 2nd. 1Q19 



r r 



r 



n 



NATURE'S MIRACLE 

■« 

I have seen the sun rise in the far away east, and 

have watched it go down in the west. 
I have gazed on the stars in the heavens above, as 

they shone when the world was at rest. 
I have stood by the sea as the breakers dashed in, 

and there I was wont to believe, 
That the force which controlled both the sun and 

the stars, could command and the tide would 

recede. 
And oft in the storm, as the temptest would rage 

and the lightning would flash from the sky, 
I have fancied I heard in the sound of the wind, 

a voice that I dared not defy. 
Then it seemed that God frowned on the whole 

universe and that all of life's beauty would 

shroud, 
But I knew that with infinite love He would smile, 

and the sunshine would break through a cloud. 

I have seen the first blossoms of Maytime burst 

forth, into colors no artist could blend, 
And I knew that on Him who ordained the fair 

Spring, would the fruits of the Summer depend. 
I have watched the birds leave in the Fall for the 

South, to a home where the skies are more 

clear, 
But I knew they'd return ere the Winter was gone, 

to bring us their song and their cheer. 

If we think that the day of the miracle's passed, 
and that wonders have long ceased to be, 

We should look in the mirror which Nature 
presents and there much of God's greatness 
would see. 

—JOHN w. COOPER 
May 15th, 1919 



^ 



SPRING 

The joyous Spring is here again! We feel it 

in the air. 
We know it by a thousand signs that greet 

us everywhere. 
We hear it in the muttering sounds ot 

Nature's welcome guests, 
And by the mating of the birds that sing 

and build their nests. 
We see it in the glorious sun and beauty of 

the sky, 
And in our souls we feel it and learn the 

reason why. 
We comprehend the meaning that the gift 

is from above, 
And that he kindly sanctioned it and blest 

it with His love. 

Then lo ! across the meadows wide, dispelling 

care and gloom, 
We find some cool and shady nook where 

purple violets bloom. 
The robin pours forth all the joy his golden 

voice can make, 
In song of thrilling passion to woo his 

gentle mate; 
While far within the leafy wood, the pink 

and whites are seen, 
That lend their modest loveliness to trim 

the carpet green; 
The tiny brooks and rivulets go singing on 

their way, 
Or pause beside some flowery bank to kiss 

it with the spray. 

The joyous Spring is here at last ! She comes 

with queenly grace, 
And stretching forth her tender arms, she 

welcomes our embrace. 
Then lo ! by magic of her wand, she casts a 

subtle spell, 
And makes the dreary world a place where 

only love should dwell. 

-JOHN w. COOPER 
April 18th, (Good Friday; 1919 



f 



f 



SUMMER 

t g c g 

We have seen the fair Spring in her beauty come 

forth, to reign midst a flowery regime; 
And have paused with reluctance to bid her adieu, 

when Summer in turn would be queen. 
We have hailed the new sovereign, whose coming 

foretold, great gifts from the bounty Above, 
As the fruits of the harvest were born of her smile 

and nourished by warmth of her love. 
Then it seems that her goodness is most manifest 

as we look at the ripening grain, 
And the world which rejoiced at the blossoms of 

Spring, will soon the fulfillment acclaim. 

It is now that man groweth more rich in estate, 

as the beauties of Nature unfold, 
For the blue of the sky, the flowers and birds, are 

his to enjoy and behold. 
What song could be sweeter or more freely disposed 

than the lark's as he calls in the morn, 
Far down in the meadow with underbrush grown 

or filled with the tall, waving corn? 
Or could artist blend colors to half-way compare 

with an old fashioned garden abloom, 
Or give to the lily its velvety touch, or add to a 

rose its perfume? 

Glad Summer, we hail thee, thou goddess divine! 

May thy bounty be ever and much; 
That the world may rejoice in the light of thy smile 

and thrive 'neath the warmth of thy touch. 
Send thou forth the rain from the Heavens above, 

to nourish the fruitage and grain; 
That the earth may respond for the good of 

mankind throughout thy entire domain! 

Shall we liken the Summer to life in its prime, 

when manhood should be at its best; 
For rarely is art or perfection attained, until merit 

has singed 'neath the test. 
Let us then not relinquish an effort undone, nor 

surrender to others the task, 
For the joys we have lost in the Springtime of life 

may be found ere the Summer has passed. 

—JOHN W. COOPER 
July 16th, 1919 



( 



Those Who Would Borrow and Never Repay 



We can lock up our house from the thief in the 

night; we can oft prove a falsehood untrue. 
There are many grave wrongs which the law will 

avenge and for which the guilty must rue. 
There are sins which the code of morals condemn, 

as it points with the finger of scorn ; 
For 'tis thus that the sinner the whirlwind shall 

reap, when of honor and virtue is shorn ; 
But what of the man who would throw the first 

stone, at the wretch who has given offense, 
While in his own heart dishonesty lurks, as he 

lives in the world of pretense? 

You have known such a one— I lament that I 

have — and perhaps we have called him our 

friend ; 
Who would borrow a sum and promise to pay, 

and we in all kindness would lend ; 
But as time rolled around, we found to our cost, 

that the effort was sadly repaid, 
For instead of assisting a friend, as we thought, 

we had only an enemy made. 
Now that man's as mean in his soul, I contend, 

as the thief who would break in and steal, 
And because the law fails to prescribe for the ill, 

only makes the sore slower to heal. 

'Twere well if such people the future could read, 

and know of the reckoning to come, 
For the world sets a judgment between right and 

wrong and on those we should love or should 

shun; 
And they who would borrow and never repay, are 

not bound in the end to succeed, 
For by their own acts they forfeit the trust that 

we gladly would give them in need. 
There's a wee bit of humor contained here withal, 

though the main facts be stoutly deplored, 
For the one who would borrow has luxuries, 

perhaps, which the one who would lend can't 

afford. 

—JOHN W. COOPER 

August 26th, 1319 



I 



( 



( 



•) ) C> D ) 



TO MY DOG 



Some poets of heroic trend 

Will deeds of valor tell, 
While others in a milder tone 

Would fain on romance dwell, 
But this poor verse, I dedicate, 

To a little friend of mine, 
Who isn't at all heroic 

Nor would in romance shine. 

Well, first of all, he's just a dog, 

With frowsy-wowsy hair, 
And though he has no pedigree 

A deuced lot I care. 
In fact, there was a distant day, 

When he had homeless been, 
So then it chanced he came to me 

And simply ' 'butted in". 

I had a mind to turn him out, 

But that was no avail, 
For after he had looked about 

And shook his shaggy tail, 
He decided of his own accord 

To let the matter rest, 
And should he like the cooking, 

Would become a permanent guest. 

And now he has his feathered bed- 
Owns half the house at least, 

And when it comes to rations, 
Life is one perpetual feast. 

But since the war has started 
He is trying to conserve, 

So instead of chops and beefsteak, 
The cheaper eats we serve. 

But for all of this extravagance 

I really shouldn't kick, 
For he's as full of love and trust 

As ever he can stick. 
He has a little way with him 

You simply can't resist, 
And if I'd never had him 

What a world of joy I'd missed. 

I will not grow poetical 

When I say that he must die, 
And have him gently wafted 

To some home beyond the sky, 
Nor will I keep him waiting 

With an ever watchful eye, 
For perchance, it might so happen, 

That I would not "get by". 

But I will give him what is due — 

As I have this thought in mind, 
How often he has kept my faith 

In fickle humankind, 
That if there is an afterplace 

Where dogs may romp and roam, 
He's surely due to get there 

With the first choice on a bone. 

-JOHN W. COOPER 
February 4th. 1918 



< 



* 



A TOAST TO THE FOURTH OF JULY 



Here's to the Fourth! — "the Glorious Fourth"! 

For 'twas thus that a People decreed, 
To stand for the right, against foreign might, 

Against base oppression and greed. 
Let the cannons boom forth, from the South to 
the North, 

At the dawn of this wonderful day; 
May our hearts now unite, in the strength of our 
might; 

May the Blue clasp the hand of the Gray. 

For this is the day! — the glorious day! 

When the flags of the Nation unfold, 
And the trumpets shall sound, till the echoes 
resound, 

As the world's greatest epic is told, 
And amid the great roar, and joyful hurrah, 

May the spirits arise from the grave, 
And the patriots of old, shall with wonder behold, 

The might their foundation bath laid. 

May the story be told, as the years are enrolled, 

To enlighten the ages to come, 
Of the staunch little band, who declared they would 
stand, 
Nor surrender till freedom was won. 
Let "the Stars and the Stripes," wave forth from 
the heights, 
And be born o'er the depths of the sea, 
Till in strength it shall grow, that all nations may 
know, 
What endears it to you and to me! 

—JOHN w. COOPER 
Revised, Sept. 14th, 1919 



< 



THE VOICE OF THE VICTOR 

I recall no greater pleasure 

Or joy that's more complete — 
Than to hear my rare Victrola 

Perform its wondrous feat, 
Of having some great artist 

As though in life appear 
And play a far-famed classic 

Or sing some hallad dear. 

Oft when the shadows gather, 

My fancy -would take flight — 
And I see the stately Homer 

As on an Opera Night; 
Again her glorious voice rings out 

Dalila's song of love; 
'Tis then I think that things of earth 

Are wrought hy those ahove. 

Ah! science thou hast reached thy height 
And fain would challenge Euterpe's right 
To reproduce — Oh! world rejoice — 
The gods' divinest gift — 
The Voice. 

—JOHN w. COOPER 
February 19. 1918 



# #) # 

Gbe Ma? to Succese 



Did you ever meet the man who said, 
He often wished that he were dead ; 
For there was nothing here in life 
But endless toil and bitter strife ; 
That he had neither friends nor kin, 
To wish him well if he should win 
A morsel of this world's success, 
Or cheer the hour of his distress? 

Who often questioned in his mind, 
The fickle fortunes of mankind : 
How it could be that some should gain 
The highest pinnacle of fame, 
And without striving it would seem, 
Could win renown and world's esteem. 
How well the honors set on some ; 
How short the distance they must run ? 

1 'And why, ' ' says he, ' 'should some have wealth, 
To give them ease and buy them health, 
While I plod on from day to day 
With irksome work and poor repay? 
What fate is it that thus decrees, 
Such difference in our destinies ? 
For surely it would seem but right 
That all at birth should fare alike. " 

Let's pause a moment, ere we decide, 
And view things on the brighter side. 
Why should we envy those of wealth, 
When riches lie within one's self, 
And happiness we'll mostly find, 
Comes with a well contented mind. 
If fame be fleeting as they say, 
What power have we to hold its sway? 

And better still— we may depend- 
That this small world is not the end. 
Think of the story Christ once told, 
Of Lazarus and the rich man's gold. 
What profit would it be for him 
To win by gold and lose by sin ? 
For it is true that wealth is won, 
Oft times by ways that we would shun. 

Let's try to make the best of life, 
By thinking less of toil and strife, 
And seeking where the treasures lie 
That gold and silver cannot buy. 
Let's try to make it worth our while 
To hide a tear behind a smile, 
And for the little time we're here 
Let's give the world our share of cheer. 
For any sunshine we can make, 
Will put us nearer Heaven's gate. 

'Tis by our actions, not the dice, 
We win or lose a paradise. 
'Tis kindly deeds that bring success, 
And give us lasting happiness. 

—JOHN W. COOPER 
April 16th. 1919 



t 



SUptt % (ttata &attg nn tf|* 3totre 



When my thoughts would wander backward 

To the village long ago, 
I can see the oldtime homestead, 

Bathed in moonlight's golden glow; 
I can picture there the garden 

As my fancy would take flight, 
And I hear again the concerts 

That the cats would sing at night. 

For many times when I've been wrapped, 

In slumber's peaceful dream, 
I have awakened with a start 

By some unearthly scream. 
Then I sprang up to the window, 

With a feeling most intense, 
For I knew that sleep had vanished, 

As the cats were on the fence. 

They were prone to hold revivals 

In the springtime of the year, 
When new talent from a distance 

With the home club would appear, 
And as I heard the echo 

Of a low and mournful wail, 
I knew the cats were warming up 

And soon would "hit the trail." 

There were those among the neighbors, 

I remember at the time, 
Who both lacked the ear for music 

And the gift of soul divine ; 
For no sooner had Maria 

Struck a high C loud and clear, 
Than from some nearby window 

Would a ghostly form appear. 

Then swish— I thought I felt it ! 

And my tender heart went thump, 
Till I heard the missile landing 

On a nearby garbage dump. 
Then from out the dark recesses, 

The cats would reappear, 
And hurl back defiance 

From the woodshed in the rear. 

I remember how I used to love 

The Thomas Serenade, 
As it woke me from my slumber 

And my sleepy head would nod, 
For the song was wrought of feeling, 

With an interlude or two, 
That gave me time to meditate 

And find a useless shoe, 

But my! how time goes fleeting by; 

Now tooting autos pass, 
And sometimes I am awakened 

By the sound of crashing glass. 
When I spring up to the window, 

With that feeling still intense ; 
Had I been asleep and dreaming 

That the cats were on the fence? 

—JOHN W. COOPER 
May 24th. 1919 



Cbilfcboo&'s Xanfc 



Let us wander hand in hand, 
Back to childhood's sunny land, 
And with fancy as the helm, 
Enter that enchanted realm ; 
But ere we the pleasures find, 
Let us leave our care behind, 
For the joys that we regain 
Are not wrought of wealth or fame, 
Which like tiny bubbles fair, 
Melt as vapor in the air. 
Let us then, with souls akin, 
Seek the joys that lie therein, 
And with trusting hearts believe, 
In the things we would retrieve. 

Lo ! the portals open wide! 
And we blithely step inside, 
As the mist of yesteryears 
Rises and our vision clears, 
'Till we see for miles and miles, 
Nature bathed in sunny smiles. 
On, and on ! we gayly go ! 
'Neath our feet the daisies grow ! 
While the fields, both near and far, 
With their white and gold bestar. 

Still rejoicing on our way, 
We meet the meadowlark and jay; 
Hear the robin redbreast sing, 
As he makes the woodland ring, 
With his golden notes so clear, 
In the joy that we are here. 
Then, to make it still more hearty, 
Wren and catbird join the party, 
'Till the birds from all directions, 
Come and render their selections. 
Oh ! we have a joyous meeting ! 
With the music of their greeting ! 

Now we find a shady dell, 
Where the modest violets dwell, 
And the grassy banks subdue 
With a veil of purple hue. 
We would linger for a time, 
Near this childhood's honored shrine ; 
Stoop and pluck the blossoms fair, 
And a tiny knot would wear, 
While the perfume, subtly sweet, 
Wakens memories from their sleep. 

Let us often take the trip, 
Back to childhood's fellowship! 

-JOHN w. COOPER 
September 12th, 1919 



< < 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 




l 



015 863 964 6 * 



